Sickle in hand
souls in pocket
heart colder
than a stainless steel locket

How many souls on my list tonight
how many are ripe for the picking
how many fools shall tempt me tonight
my scythe is giddy and itching

The night so young
like a ******'s sweet kiss
The church bells haven't rung
we'll have to fix this

So many screaming...
as I do my **** job
do you not realize without my work
that the earth would be overcrowded, like life in a bog?
or choking with smog
but then I guess my work is becoming outdated
humans are killing each other slowly... it's a wonder they ever made it